I am me…a figment of imagination. An imagination bejewelled with fantastical interpretations. I am imagined and yet I exist; in the form of an exaggerated pastiche.
I am me…my eyes, attracted like desperately unbalanced magnets set within impossibly floating frames. Acting as a despoliation of the narcissistic and tragic treasuring of youth.
I am me…of definitive age. An age so confidently and gleefully defined. A number demonically represented through a pair of comically dilated pupils; a decade handed back to me through hastily assumed inaccuracies.
I am me…the flush of my cheeks a blur. My ears framing my head like some spasmodically irregular Venn diagram. A narrow hair-croissant...majestic, like the legs of some H.G. Wells-inspired alien craft. A single, scribbled arc curving from one bloated jawbone to another.
I am me…my wide, menacing grimace exposing the dental equivalent of a pair of carelessly left sliding doors. My nose, rising like the sun over a patchwork landscape.
I am me…the curve of my chin softened by scribbled hieroglyphs of cryptic stubble. The absence of which, beneath my nose, suggesting a penchant for unconventional grooming, like a Limp Bizkit frontman.
I am me…a paradox. Anger defied by an ill-proportioned party hat, bizarrely never worn as a source of inspiration.
I am me…
Through the eyes of my own child.
